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RPLog:We Interrupt This Broadcast...
In the late evening on Imperial Center there is hardly true darkness, more a gloom created by the dome of artifical light that surrounds the world city. Even in this time the streets are still a bussel of activity, guards and security vehicles moving about at all times. The changes come at the lower levels, in the sections entitles Invasec. Low sublevels where sunlight never touched, aliens are forced to live in virtual slums, and things are typically rather run-down. The perk? No real security presence. Though not totally in this part of the city yet, there are still a few terminals that can serve the small groups purpose on Imperial center. But at the same time the streets are still patrolled from time to time. This particular street is enclosed in what appears to be a large tunnel, the domed ceiling only 15 feet above their heads. A few odd citizens walk through, but all manner of business are closed now or condemed. So for now, the streets are quiet. The data terminal is across from them, and looks rather old. As if still here from the days of the Old Republic, but somehow still functional. During the trip, Mitali had been quite calm about the operation, even optimistic - likely due in part to the very competent company that the young man knew he was in. Once they were actually inside the city, he relied on Wrista's expertise to see them along, trusting a native of the planet more than he would any NRI report telling him where to go. Mitali feels safer the lower into Coruscant they go, a perverse sort of comfort coming from his past experiences with the planet's undercity. While far from safe, the dangers that lurked there were not the dangers that they needed to be worried about... and besides, they aren't quite /that/ far down now. His hood up and his hands tucked into his pockets, he eyes the terminal, squinting to try and see in the low light of the tunnel. "Probably as good as it's going to get," he says, half to himself and half to his companions. Let's just say it's been an interesting ... trip. Ti'ilandria has hardly been her typically nervous, talkative, droid-loving self - one might think she was actually focused on the mission. But then, this is Ty. The poor girl has been trying everything from reading, to rudimentary meditation, to self-isolation, as well as practice (in isolation) on the voice to Imperial Center. And once off the Violet Sky, she's hardly said a word. Now is hardly any different. The woman reaches into her pocket and grasps her half of the data cylinders before letting her hazel eyes drift towards Mitali's position, before floating over towards Wrista's. "Okay, Boss, next step?" she finally asks, adjusting the technician's jumpsuit Wrista made certain she put on, before lastly looking towards Shammi, then to Moralis. And no, not once does she really give a glance towards Raxis. Oooo, cold shoulder. Dressed like a technician as well, Raxis walks along behind the group and looks to Ti'ilandria for a moment. Blinking slowly, he furrows his brow and then glances around in a bored manner. Stiffling a yawn, he adjusts the lay of his vest, not liking the fact that he's been forced to keep his Bryar pistol inside of his backpack of technician's supplies. It would take forever to get to. Shrugging the weight on, he does his best to play the part of a disgruntled employee. It isn't too hard for him. He was disgruntled most of the ride over. Mitali must not have been talking to Shammi. An easy oversight to make, of course, with the girl spending most of her personal time on the voyage talking in hushed tones with Ti'ilandria and Raxis. For the moment she's looming near Raxis... or, well, trying to loom. Even with the two-inch platforms she's still head and shoulders -below- the rest. What little she's let on about her role has been rambling at best. For what it's worth, she's at least been an asset at making the autochef's food taste surprisingly like a home-cooked meal. Coruscant. For someone who can't go home, Wrista sure is spending a lot of time back here lately. Not that she's one to complain, but she'd be happier if she stopped having to sneak her way in one way or another. While she *lived* in the Upper City in the nice neighborhoods, she grew up closer to where they are now, spending most of her teenaged years in the sublevels, and even in the highly dangerous Undercity. When she had been asked for advice, she had given it, and when she was asked along, she'd agreed without much hesitation. She'd suggested the sublevels-- when you're doing something illegal, the gang-ridden territories are the safer option. She's also suggested the group wear technician's jumpsuits-- they ould rather easily appear to be just another repair team servicing one of the hundreds of network nodes scattered around. And so that's what she's opted to wear herself, a desaturated blue coverall, with an oscure contracting company's logo scrawled onto the back. She'd also insisted on stopping at a store so she could by a bottle of cheap liquor, without explanation, and tosses it into Raxis' pack. When Ti'ilandria asks the tiny twi'lek her question, she makes a little cutting gesture with her hand, seemingly as part of a stretch, and talks out the side of her mouth. "You walk up like you're supposed to be here, and 'fix' the node. If security pops by, you and Raxis are in charge of us sorry aliens. We're not really much in the way of help, but the company refuses to give you better lackeys to hand you your spanner. Which is a shame, since we barely manage to get that right. It's a great imposition. If a gang shows up, keep working and I'll talk to them." Whatever was troubling the other three has Mitali curious, but he isn't the type to pry - not while he's /working/, anyway, and the mission is more important. Plenty of time to ask (or not) on their way home. Smiling at the two in the jumpsuits that match the one he wears over his usual travel clothing, he winks at them and, without delay, begins walking towards the terminal that has made itself available to them, already dropping a hand to his toolbelt. As he moves, his focus is not necessarily on the task at hand - rather, it is on the world around them, his mind quiet so that he can try to keep an eye out for trouble while Ty works. The first nod is given to Wrista as she lays out 'The Plan', or rather 'The Story'. Then Ty glances around, this time looking to Raxis and giving him a firm nod, making certain he is on board with it. Hazel eyes then fall to Shammi, before the barest hint of what could almost be a reassuring smile flickers on her lips before it is gone. Ty then stalks forward to the terminal, sliding up next to Mitali, giving a third nod to the Jedi Apprentice. There is a pause, then just to go with the cover story she gives him a glare, holding out her hand. "Hydrospanner," she grumbles, gnawing on her lower lip, even as her right hand starts to fly over the screen trying to establish a connection. This is going to be difficult staying 'in character' if someone comes by. Moving to the terminal as well, Raxis goes to one knee and pulls off the backpack. Pulling out some tools and a replacement spool of wiring, he angles his head so that he can watch down one of the two directions this corridor leads. Taking out a hydrospanner. Handing it up to Ty in silence, he keeps the edge of the walkway in his peripheral vision and starts unspooling some of the wire. Today...would be a wiring replacement job. Shammi's supposed roll in all this? Standards and Practices. She's got the clipboard (well, a datapad), the pinched button nose and everything. If her talents are needed to assist, well, sometimes during an inspection you've got to fix an error on the spot. And so with as snobbish a look as she can muster (and being barely old enough to server, that's -quite- snobbish thankyouverymuch), Shammi leans in to check the work, filling out a generic form and offering some insight into the aged tech. Wrista, for her part, fetches up against the wall, where she can keep an eye on the approaches and cover the technicians' backs while pretending to be a rather surly twi'lek trying to avoid actually doing any work. Of course, what the Scout is *actually* doing, is keeping a nonchalant, but sharp eye on the surroundings. Ti'ilandria checks her Computer programming/repair skill. The results are: 3 4 1 2. The wild die is: 6. The total is: 19 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ <> (VERSION 1.7) ADMINISTRATOR LEVEL ACCESS... PASSWORD REQUIRED: ********* ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ SYSTEM INTERFACE TIMEOUT: 60 Seconds... ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Ti'ilandria checks her Security skill. The results are: 6 6 6 6 4. The wild die is: 1. The total is: 22 Ti'ilandria boosts with a character point and increases the total to 26! ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ <> (VERSION 1.7) TRAFFIC CAMS 12113.4 12113.5 12113.6 12113.7 ALL CAM CASCADE VIEW HOLONET BROADCASTS IGN LIVE FEEDS IGN RECORDED SCHEDULE FEED IGN ARCHIVES SECURITY / MAINTENINCE REPAIR SCHEDULE PATROL SCHEDULE USER ACCESS LOGS REMOTE TERMINAL INTERFACE SECURE LOCAL FILES 1) ********* 2) ********* 3) ********* 4) ********* . . . PLEASE CHOOSE AN COMMAND: ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Mitali just arches a pointed eyebrow at Ti'ilandria when she glares at him and doesn't budge - there's no need, when Raxis provides her the tool she requests. He flashes her as cheerful a smile as he can (which, apparently, is incredibly cheerful) and loosely folds his arms, leaning over to watch her work. He has the utmost confidence in her ability to handle this without his help, but just in case, he is here - albeit a touch distracted listening for trouble. Okay, that smile does her in, and Ty purses her lips at Mitali. "Stop that," she says softly. "I'm supposed to not like you," she notes, even as she turns her attention back to the screen. "Whoa... Republic.. this is old. Can I keep it? We've got room, can I just bring it back with us?" she continues to whisper even as she works. Finger wraps around the hydrospanner and ash starts to say thanks, before she pauses, and looks down at Raxis. Belatedly she finishes the word and yanks the tool away and moves like she is working. "Right. So... I say we cue everything up in the Live Feeds, I don't know how much protection I could offer as a buffer for IGN once they realize what's going on but ... maybe just a little. Then we run. Sound good?" Raxis grumbles, shaking his head a little bit. Bitching and moaning like a good technician should. Speaking quietly, but loud enough to have it seem like technician banter, he keeps his eyes down the corridor from beneath the brim of his hat as he starts measuring proper lengths of cable. "So you think the Sandpanthers will take the Smashball Cup this season? Rumor has it that Doros is gonna push for MVP...I don't think he's got a chance but I heard there's a pool starting up around the crew that works in D sector. Could probably still get a few credits into it before the season gets too far in." He shifts his weight onto a different hip. "Oh, and by the way? I think I'm going to get a good price on those tickets. Gonna take the wife and the kid this weekend." Because the only thing more suspicious than a bunch of people around a data terminal, is a bunch of quiet ones. "...you okay with light up there?" He looks up, nodding to Ty. He looks back down to his measuring of cable and eyeballs the corridor. Standards and Practices leans over to rap the Twi'lek with her datapad. A glare over the top of her sunglasses, and Shammi returns to the act of observing the work. "I am -so- sick of hearing about the Smashball," she curtly snips, rolling with the banter. "I can't wait to get these insipid inspections over with--you're lucky," she warns with a waggle of her datapad at each of the crew, "very lucky you haven't all been replaced with droids. They don't fare well around the... well..." The snobby S&P woman sneers at their run-down surroundings. Wrista makes a great show of yawning like this is the most boring job she's been on in months-- which... actually, is not completely untrue. But she uses it as an excuse to cover her mouth with her hand. "Nothing fancy... job we're here for first, extra-curriculars can wait," she says, glancing over towards the screen. "Dig the speech out and get it on the air. You can enjoy yourself afterwards if there's time." Then, uncovering her mouth, she rolls her eyes, and affects a *really* thick lower-class Coruscanti accent. "'ere we go again with the Sandpanthers. Do you *ever* think 'bout nothin' else? It's always 'oh, 'oo ya think's gonna take it this year', and 'I gots me some karkin' good seats this time', but I never seen yas in them good seats in the hol-- ow!" She rubs her arm, and then.... promptly goes back to ignoring the hell out of the Suit. The operative stretches, his neck adjusting its position with a crack. Of his parallel careers, military service has always been significantly more rewarding than covert ops, and yet this line of work has somehow outlasted the other. Humming quietly to himself, Rodrigar stands casually near from the terminal, watching the gearhead do her work in silence. Remembering old habits, Mora wonders idly whether he's brought any smokes, but with a mind to his health he sighs, resigned to a piece of gum. He checks his pocket. Sidearm's still there. If it can be called a sidearm. Picking up on the conversation, he glances over his shoulder slowly, stiffly, then stretches again and yawns. "Well, I'm not gonna be at any games this season, not after what happened at the division qualifiers last year. I'm boycotting the stadium. I will be watching though!" Mora shoots as visible a look to Raxis as he can muster. "And betting." Supposing he ought to look busy, Mora grabs a tool he doesn't recognize and leans in closer to the slicers. "Anything extra's worth some favors, though, if you can pull it off." The agent is mainly here because he believes in this particular objective, but any useful tidbits he can bring back to Ord Mantell with him will certainly improve his take on the experience. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ <> (VERSION 1.7) IGN: ADMINISTRATOR LEVEL ACCESS... PASSWORD REQUIRED: ********* ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Ti'ilandria checks her Security skill. The results are: 6 2 6 6 6. The wild die is: 2. The total is: 28 INVALI..... PASSCODE ACCEPTED... ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ <> (VERSION 1.7) IGN LIVE FEEDS: LOCAL NEWS GLOBAL NEWS GALACTIC NEWS HOLOVID ARCHIVES CURRENT FILES OLD FILES EDITED FOR BROADCAST IGN FEED SCHEDULE LOCAL NEWS GLOBAL NEWS GALACTIC NEWS . . . PLEASE CHOOSE A COMMAND: ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ The streets remain quiet as the 'repair' crew goes about their work, most citizens keeping away and allowing them the room they need. Some stare for a moment before realizing just how terribly boring that is. Far as they are concerned that terminal hasn't worked right in years. From the distance at the end of the road comes the sound of booted feet heading their way. Some quiet chattering about local smashball teams as well, a security detail. Two poor bastards who must have slept with the cheifs daughter or accidentally lit a Security cruiser on fire, how else would they get stuck with this crappy route. They turn their heads to look at the repair crew, give them a nod, then just keep on going past toward the next street. Moments later they are out of sight. "Yes ma'am," Mitali replies to the admonishment from Ty, quickly schooling his expression back down into something more sour. "Sorry ma'am. Won't happen again, ma'am." As the others begin discussing sports, he just lets out a sigh and rolls his eyes, drumming his fingers against his crossed arms while he watches Ti'ilandria work, a small smile quirking his mouth and quickly hidden as she continues to prove her worth as a slicer. He lifts his head when he hears footsteps approaching, but senses no danger - a welcome relief. As the pair of security patrolling the area move by, Mitali returns their nod and lifts a hand to give them a chipper salute of recognition. Once they're out of sight, he looks back to Ty and the others, nodding once. So far, so good. "Live, Galactic," is all the Mirialan says in a quiet, quick aside to her, dropping a hand into his pocket to check for the spare datacyllinders. Oh, wait, breath! Ty looks left, then right at the group before letting out the breath she was holding slowly, very slowly, before looking back to the screen, letting her fingers work. "Gimme some of that 5-gauge wire," she says down to Raxis, just in case the security detail is still in earshot. A faint nod is given then to Mitali at the last two words he gives as she reaches into her pocket again and pulls a datacylinder with red rim on it to use first. This would be the one with Osbourne's speech, the official IGN feed, even. With another deep breath, Ty lets the others banter about smashball, something she has no knowledge about, or inkling for that matter. If she starts up, it'll only make matters worse. So, she just concentrates on working. Like a good little Imperial... er... New Republic TechGirl. "You know one of these years the Corellian Sandpanthers are going to take the cup and the lot of you are going to suddenly rush out and buy the merchandise. It's called getting on the mag-train and everyone does it." Raxis replies, nodding to the security detail as they pass. Spooling in the cabling, he slides the cut lengths into the backpack. Then, he removes the spool again and starts over. Grabbing some of the five-gauge, he hands it up to Ty and smirks. "Look I'm no expert but here's what's going to happen. Mark my words. As good as Coruscant is, they don't have Doros. Doros is the top rated player in the league and with the defensive lineup Corellia has, Coruscant simply doesn't have the talent on the payroll..." He smirks. "...so when they win, you're all going to be sitting there watching the holo in my apartment cheering them on, because whatever lousy boyfriends you happen to make are going to be cheering for Coruscant." He huffs. "Women...mindgames in the strangest places I swear." He pauses. "I know this, because my wife does the same thing everytime Coruscant plays Corellia." Gendarmes? In MY--nevermind. Shammi wiggles her shoulders to loosen up, running a few pickup lines in her head: Either of you boys know a good spot for ale on the Upper West? Is it just me or did things just get interesting? You are a spitting image for a young Vader, when do you get off? She adjusts her glasses, though, only preparing the lines in case they come close. As they do not, well... she still keeps up appearances. "Overly... chatty... on the... job. Minus ten points," she narrates, tapping at her datapad in response to the sportszone tech over here. Wrista picks the boots out of the background noise fairly early. As a scout and experienced special operations soldier, she's trained to listen for certain things, and the measured sound of patrols are among them. As a precaution, the grey-skinned twilek... well, just vanishes, while everyone else is busy looking at other things. By the time the security shows up and waves, she's nowhere to be found, and it isn't until they've gone that she turns back up to resume her leaning vigil against the wall, having quietly shadowed the patrol to make sure they were really leaving. Wrista checks her Sneak skill. The results are: 5 2 5 5 5. The wild die is: 3. The total is: 25 Data rolls 3D. The results are: 2 3. The wild die is: 4. The total is: 9 As the patrol approaches, Mora winces, and focuses intently on the readout in front of Ty. Though he's not on active duty anymore, Rodrigar imagines that the 'Admiral' in front of his name adds a digit to his worth in any Stormtrooper's eyes. Pretending that he can't hear the officers, he stares daggers at the terminal. When they have passed, he pushes himself to his feet and pats his pockets, giving in. "Does anybody have a smoke?" ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ <> (VERSION 1.7) IGN LIVE GALACTIC FEEDS: NAK SHIMOR RE-BROADCASTS *EDITED* GSL COVERAGE SMASHBALL: CORUSCANT KRYATS VS. CORELLIA SANDPANTHERS COMMERCIAL BROADCASTS REPUBLIC SENATE SPEECHES SENATE COMMITY HEARINGS *EDITED* MISTER ORGANA-SOLO *EDITED* K.L. OSBOURNE *RESTRICTED/ENCRYPTED* . . . PLEASE CHOOSE A COMMAND: ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ SYSTEM INTERFACE TIMEOUT: 60 Seconds... ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Ti'ilandria checks her Security skill. The results are: 3 5 3 2 5. The wild die is: 2. The total is: 20 INVALI..... PASSCODE ACCEPTED... ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Ti'ilandria checks her Computer programming/repair skill. The results are: 1 1 3 4. The wild die is: 4. The total is: 13 INVALID PASSCODE... ACCESS DENIED... ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ REMAINING ATTEMPTS: 2 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Mitali checks his Computer programming/repair skill. The results are: 1 1 3 4. The wild die is: 6. The total is: 16 INVALID PASSCODE... ACCESS DENIED... ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ REMAINING ATTEMPTS: 1 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Mitali checks his Computer programming/repair skill. The results are: 4 2 3 1. The wild die is: 4. The total is: 14 Mitali says, "12" (Editor's Note: This was a die command roll) INVALI..... PASSCODE ACCEPTED... ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ K.L. OSBOURNE *RESTRICTED/ENCRYPTED* - NOW BROADCASTING... ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ By now, Ty's complete concentration falls upon the terminal. After a moment, she reaches up and puts the hydrospanner between her lips as her hazel eyes narrow and a bead of sweat drips down the side of her brow. Then there is an odd noise from the terminal as Ty's eyes cross as the muffled sounds of Hutteese drip from the woman's lips. They are not pleasant words that she is saying, either. "Mmmtii. Ooo ii. Iv erri ubbrmmm," she starts to say then blinks and reaches up to pull the tool out from between her lips with a grunt of frustration. "I'm not gettin' it. Mitali, can you give it a go?" ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ <> (VERSION 1.7) IGN LIVE GALACTIC FEEDS: NAK SHIMOR RE-BROADCASTS *EDITED* GSL COVERAGE SMASHBALL: CORUSCANT KRYATS VS. CORELLIA SANDPANTHERS COMMERCIAL BROADCASTS REPUBLIC SENATE SPEECHES SENATE COMMITY HEARINGS *EDITED* MISTER ORGANA-SOLO *EDITED* K.L. OSBOURNE *RESTRICTED/ENCRYPTED* . . . PLEASE CHOOSE A COMMAND: ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ It's the odd noise that draws Mitali's attention. He knows that noise very well from his own misspent youth, and as Ti'ilandria requests help, he simply nods his head. "Don't see why not," he murmurs, rubbing his hands together as he moves to take her place in front of the terminal. Looking the screen over, he purses his lips, shifting his focus from staying alert to danger to the matter at hand - which, given the angry /blat/ the terminal issues, does not help his first attempt. He glances askance to Ty and grins sympathetically before he closes his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. This is something he's never tried before... but his Master has always advocated learning in action, and this is important. They're counting on him. When Mitali's eyes open again, he does not think - he just lets his fingers fly over the terminal's input as his gut tells him they should, putting his full faith in the Force to see him through. And this time, it works. He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, developing an odd, quirky smile and taking a sliding step back out of the way, ceding the floor back to Ty. Still kneeling on the floor, Raxis starts to put away equipment before taking out a thin poking metal device to act as if he's trying to clean old wiring from beneath the slicing portion of a wire stripper. Smirking, he glances in Shammi's direction. "Ten points?" He scoffs, turning his head back to his work and his post as he rolls his eyes. "...you know, when I was your age it was only two points." Raxis comments with a grin. "I'm going to have to print some sort of retraction report to try to stall your S & P report..." "Please," Shammi scoffs, "When you were my age there were only ten points on the entire report." Hands go behind her back and the girl leans over to sneer. With a sugary-sweet voice she teases, "Weren't people still riding eopies back then?" Wrista settles back, the twi'lek making great show of exasperated boredom with the banter, while she fishes a sugarstick out of her pocket, to hold in her lips rather like a cigarra while she sucks on one of the hard candied sticks she's never without. She glances over Mitali's shoulder while he works, and makes an approving noise. "Good. Now. Anything else we can do while we're here? Maybe un-edit the Nak Shimor footage, or raid some files before they trace us?" May as well chance the bold move and try and come home with some extra. Removing his hands from his pockets, Mora decides he agrees with Wrista's approach. He leans against the wall as nobody passes him a smoke and fiddles with whatever's on the chain around his neck. Ti'ilandria checks her Computer programming/repair skill. The results are: 5 5 1 1. The wild die is: 3. The total is: 15 UNEDITED NAK SHIMOR RE-RE-BROADCAST - NOW BROADCASTING... ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ <> (VERSION 1.7) TRAFFIC CAMS 12113.4 12113.5 12113.6 12113.7 ALL CAM CASCADE VIEW HOLONET BROADCASTS IGN LIVE FEEDS IGN RECORDED SCHEDULE FEED IGN ARCHIVES SECURITY / MAINTENINCE REPAIR SCHEDULE PATROL SCHEDULE USER ACCESS LOGS REMOTE TERMINAL INTERFACE SECURE LOCAL FILES 1) ********* 2) ********* 3) ********* 4) ********* . . . PLEASE CHOOSE A COMMAND: ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Mitali checks his Security skill and modifies it by 4D+0. The results are: 6 2 4 6 3 6 2 2 5. The wild die is: 6. The total is: 44 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ <> (VERSION 1.7) SECURE FILE: 4) ENCRYPTED MILITARY TRANSMISSION - sOURCE UNKNOWN SOURCE > TEXT ONLY...MESSAGE RE-ROUTE TO ALL DESTINATIONS "EXECUTE ORDER: 66" MESSAGE END MESSAGE AUTO-DELETING... DELETED ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ <> (VERSION 1.7) TRAFFIC CAMS 12113.4 12113.5 12113.6 12113.7 ALL CAM CASCADE VIEW HOLONET BROADCASTS IGN LIVE FEEDS IGN RECORDED SCHEDULE FEED IGN ARCHIVES SECURITY / MAINTENINCE REPAIR SCHEDULE PATROL SCHEDULE USER ACCESS LOGS REMOTE TERMINAL INTERFACE SECURE LOCAL FILES 1) ********* 3) ********* 4) ********* . . . PLEASE CHOOSE A COMMAND: ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ <> (VERSION 1.7) IGN RECORDED SCHEDULE FEED: NIGHTLY NEWS BREAKING NEWS *OVERRIDE* DAILY RE-BROADCASTS . . . PLEASE CHOOSE A COMMAND: ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Ti'ilandria checks her Security skill. The results are: 6 4 2 6 1. The wild die is: 6. The total is: 26 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ BREAKING NEWS RE-EDIT: PANDEMIC... BROADCASTING>>>>>> LKNSDFKJSBLAKSNDKLJB?><>??<>><>><<*^()*Y >M<><:LKJM?>M:>MK>........................ ......... ..... ....R .. . . . ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ As the group works together on the terminal, Mitali's focus is briefly broken. Order 66? What in the world...? No time. There was still work to do, and with he and Ti'ilandria trading off to take full advantage of their strengths, they are able to get a great deal done - until they're discovered. That's their cue. "Time to go," Mitali says simply, and evidentally, he means it - he has experience with Imperial response to their systems being sliced, and he doesn't want any of their group to be caught, considering what they've just done. He waits only long enough to ensure that Ty, Raxis and Moralis are moving to leave before he moves to follow, hoping to find an alley to slip into once they're out of the tunnel to ditch his jumpsuit in and leave in the clothes he's wearing underneath. Patting Mitali on the back as the pair switch back and forth, back and forth between slicing duties, Ty finally takes her last turn, using the final cylinder, intent on posting now about the Dacan Plague. "Nice one, Mitali... nice one. I sure couldn't have done that. Completely jealous," the woman states as her hands and fingers start to fly over the screen. They've gotten alot of good work done today. They've found some interesting news. And now, perhaps, Ty's getting a little cocky. Just as the information starts to go out, however, the screen starts to devolve into gibberish, and the tech's hazel eyes widen. "Bantha Poodoo," she hisses. "We've been traced," she notes, looking over at Mitali, her face pale, before looking over to Wrista, even as she grabs the cylinder and puts it in her pocket. Old habits and all that. Following the rest of the group, Raxis brings the backpack with him and heads in the middle of the group. Head down and his cap low, he makes for a heated pace. Eyes scanning for someplace to ditch into as well, he lets his breathing increase slowly. "Good work guys...now all we gotta do is make the hangar. I'll wait to get our boy to power up the ride..." He says to them. Reaching into his backpack, he pulls something out and slides it inside to somewhere in the coveralls, under his arm. As the techs work, Wrista is watching, though after a bit, she pulls the bottle of alcohol out of Raxis' bag, and pours about half of it out, before she sets the bottle down amidst the cabling and such that Raxis was using to put on a reasonable show when the terminal locks down. "And so it is," she agrees with Mitali, as if it's... well, nothing of import. "No particular hurry, but don't dwadle; two streets down and ditch the jumpsuits if we've got enough room to do so." The group get a short ways down the tunnel before the Jedi suddenly throws out his arms and skids to a halt, his brown eyes wide. "Whoa. Wrong way." He gives a pointed look to those with him before he pivots on his heel and, trusting them to follow his lead, breaks into a sprint, apparently /very/ interested in getting out the other side of the tunnel as quickly as possible. Suddenly, he is very grateful for Wrista's recent tendency to kick him out of bed at dawn and force him to run laps around the expansive temple grounds. Why soon becomes obvious as the sound of rapidly-approaching footsteps begins echoing up the tunnel - Imperial stormtroopers, coming their way, no doubt to investigate the breach in security. Ti'Ilandria nods to Wrista. "Two streets down, gotcha, Boss," she notes, reaching up to rub a hand over her hair, pulling out the bun. Of course, when Mitali skids to a halt and turns around to go the other way, Ty blinks and peers after the man, before registering that he said 'Wwwrong Way'. And that it was likely for a reason. Grabbing a hold of Shammi, Ty turns around and begins to hurriedly follow the JediTech. "Okay, okay. Breathe, Ty. Breathe!" murmurs the woman to herself as she walks, shaking out her head and ducking down the ally with the other woman once it's safe. Clothes are quickly removed, and yes, Ty is dressed beneath! Helping Shammi switch her clothes around, the two women are then off again, after tossing the discarded garments behind a pile of rubbish. Someone will get a find tonight! Skidding to a stop and turning to bolt after Ty and the gang, Raxis grins quietly as he runs. Falling into a trot beside Wrista, he grins over at her. "Oh like old times huh?" He spares a glance over his shoulder. Skidding into the alleyway, Raxis ditches the hat and the coveralls, revealing typical spacer garb. Sliding his Bryar pistol into his thigh holster, he looks to Ty. "So I suppose that this would be a good time to say I'm sorry right?" He grins in her direction. Playfully, he shoves her. "Cmon...I'm waiting." He offers her a broad grin before running after them. Wrista, unsurprisingly, doesn't question Mitali's warning-- she simply turns mid-stride and starts the other way. "Wouldn't miss it," she replies to Raxis, and she's already stripping the coveralls off when they get far enough way. Underneath, she has the sort of spacer clthes that likely wouldn't earn much of a second-look just about anywhere, despite looking slightly more upscale than the typical tramp pilot fare. She settles her clothes on her frame and then nods. "Alright, let's get off this rock. We Interrupt This Broadcast...